


What Cassandra Wants

by primeeight



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Fluff and Smut, No Beta, Other, Their first time, trans!blackwall
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-24
Updated: 2016-12-24
Packaged: 2018-09-11 20:42:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9019990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/primeeight/pseuds/primeeight
Summary: Blackwall has a hard time denying Cassandra.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Happy holidays! Have some smut.

"Cassandra, wait," Blackwall groans, his hips retreating without permission as Cassandra pushes insistent fingers beneath the waistband of his trousers. He bites his lip to stop a whimper as her palm slips between his legs, skating along the front of his underpants.

She gasps, and her hand stills. She rises on one elbow to peer down at his face, which is sweaty and red from countless kisses and tentative, roaming hands.

Blackwall steels himself, pushing up on his elbows too, and tries to stutter an apology, but Cassandra cups him in her palm, applying pressure just so against his cloth-covered clit. He stares up at her face, a breathy moan escaping as her boldness fully penetrates his thoughts.

Cassandra's eyes gleam, hungry and desirous, and Blackwall again finds that he can't control his hips—but this time, he tilts himself into her hand. Her nostrils flare, lips parting, and her fingers drag upward to find his clit—which strains and parts his lips—through his shorts. It only takes her a moment to find him, hard and wanting, and he drops back into the hay as she makes contact. He wants this so much, wants Cassandra to touch him, put her fingers in him.

"Gordon," Cassandra whispers, closing the distance between their faces to kiss him. Her fingers barely touch, rubbing in a jerky circle. She grips his hair in her other hand, and Blackwall cranes into the kiss, opening his mouth. Cassandra's tongue takes the invitation immediately, and he slides his arms around her, hands tugging her tunic out of her pants. Their lips move together, sliding and parting and permitting small sounds. Their tongues touch and swirl, and all the while, Cassandra rubs Blackwall through his shorts until his hips roll against her fingers, seeking more pressure.

He works his hands underneath her tunic, and they both sigh as his rough palms make contact with her heated skin. She kisses and touches him harder, and he takes it as encouragement to explore. He squeezes her breasts, one in each hand, and she presses into his touch. He palms her, digging his fingertips in slightly, and rubs the center of his hands against her nipples until they're crinkled and pointed. She gasps into his mouth, and he pinches her hard nipples, tugging in time with the rhythm of their kissing. He rolls them, and Cassandra shifts against his side, draping her leg across his thighs to push her center against him.

Their lips and hands continue their dance until both are panting and jogging their hips, and Blackwall is suddenly aware of how loud they sound in the loft above Skyhold's stables. He pulls his hands away, trying to think of a better place for them to do this, but Cassandra's fingers still move over his clit, and clear thought is impossible. 

His hips chase her hand when she pulls it away only moments later, but he ceases his protest when she shirks her tunic, and the moonlight gives her beauty an ethereal cast. His eyes dart between her face and breasts, deviating only once to take in the contours of her belly. The sight of her dark nipples fills his mouth with saliva, and he sits up to take one in his mouth.

Cassandra stops him with hands on his shoulders. They gaze at each other for a long moment, and Cassandra cups his face, brushing her thumbs over his cheekbones before she trails fingertips through his dense beard.

"Gordon, I want to see you. All of you," Cassandra confesses and drops her hands to the fastenings of his gambeson. She trembles, and Blackwall clasps her hands between his thick-fingered grip and brings her fingertips to his mouth to kiss. He peers at her over top of her hands, and she swallows, her returned eye contact intense and pleading.

Blackwall releases her hands as he sees the plea form on her lips. He doesn't want her to have to ask again.

He makes quick work of his gambeson's fastenings and shrugs it off. She stares, her eyes dark and expectant, and he almost growls because it's been a long, long time since anyone has looked at him with such want. Below, he can feel the pounding in his clit, can feel his lips swelling and slickness slipping free to soak into his shorts. He hurries to pull his sweat-stained vest over his head.

He almost shies from the appraising sweep of Cassandra's gaze as it travels from his face to the tangled mass of coarse, dark hair covering his tiny breasts and the soft, solidity of his rounded belly. She makes a pleased sound, and he takes a shaky breath. She looks torn, her hands raising ever so toward his bared torso. Her touch evolves from tentative to impatient as she threads her fingers through belly hair and upward to roughly squeeze his barely-there breasts.

Emboldened, Blackwall begins to unlace his trousers, and Cassandra watches for a moment, biting her lower lip as her hands stop their squeezing.

"You, too," Blackwall urges, looking pointedly at her clothed lower half. He stills his hands until she sits up to work her boots off. He reaches over to tug off her long, wool socks, and then it's a race to see who can get their pants off the quickest.

He wins by a hair's breadth, but then Cassandra climbs onto his lap and kisses the breath from him. She grinds against the swell of his belly, her pubic hair tangling with the scraggly down that covers his torso. He presses his tongue into her mouth, his hands sweeping up and down her back, feeling the twist of her muscles as she rolls her hips into him.

Her hands soon push him onto his back, and she slides down his body until a knee is on either side of his hips and their groins align. Her hand slithers between their bodies to open herself, and Blackwall's hips and breath hitch as her heat and slick slide over him. She parts him, too, her fingertips brushing the swollen, straining bud at his apex.

He grips her waist in a near-bruising hold and drops his head against the hay-cushioned wooden planks of the loft floor. She moves over him, and he isn't sure what part of her he's feeling, but it's wet and hot and sliding against the pinnacle of his need; just enough friction to feel exquisite but not enough to bring him to his end. His mouth falls open, lips shining in the moonlight, and he pants as Cassandra rides him with purpose. Her palms push into his shoulders and chest, her short fingernails scratching his skin. Her fingers move to his nipples and tug until he throws his head back.

Their hips crash together, trying to find a rhythm, and finally he uses his hold on her waist to guide the tilt and pace of her hips.

Cassandra's breathy gasps turn into low moans, and her head droops as Blackwall increases the pressure between their sodden centers. Their clits collide every few strokes, and each time, Cassandra sags further over Blackwall's barrel-chested body. He tightens his arms around her, one hand coming up to cup the back of her head. Their lips seek one another out, and he tries to communicate everything he's feeling with his kisses.

Blackwall's lips fall away from Cassandra's as the head of his clit is swept up in the wet slide and hard bump of what lies between Cassandra's thighs. He feels helpless beneath her, and his legs part and bend at the knee for more leverage, more pressure. He grips her ass, forcing her hips to move how he wants, and she surrenders to his strength.

He feels her breath on his face, hot and humid, and he opens his eyes to see her looking down at him. Her eyes blaze, shrouded lightly beneath the determined furrow of her dark brows. Sweat glistens on her forehead, and locks of her hair stick to her skin. She looks more beautiful than anything Blackwall has ever seen, and he feels himself beginning to crest. Blackwall digs deep for his resolve, clenching his jaw. 

Cassandra is lost to her pleasure—abandon etched deep into the blissful look contorting her face—so it is easy to turn them over. He puts distance between their bodies, taking gulps of air to steady the circular pound between his heart and slick heat. He can't help but touch himself, and they both groan as the thick pads of his fingers make contact with his distended, swollen clit.

His voice rasps, "Cassandra," and she pulls her to him, their teeth almost colliding as she claims his mouth. He falls over her, bracing himself with one hand on either side of her head. His thigh is between hers, and he draws his knee up until she can press against it.

Her fingers grip his shoulder-length hair in tight fists, keeping his head in place. Frustrated noises fill up his mouth as she splays her legs and drags her sex up his thick thigh. He can almost taste her desperation.

A moan escapes from one of them as her molten heat slides along his skin, searing a path and matting the dense hair on his thigh. He longs to drop his hips down and fuck himself against her thigh, too, but there is so much else he wants to experience before he comes.

He shifts his weight to one side and lifts the opposite hand to trace fingertips along her face and down to the swell of her breast. Her nipple is hard as he plays his thumb over it, and his probing kiss muffles her sharp moan.

"I want to touch you," he growls under his breath, drawing back from her lips only far enough to speak.

"Yes," she hisses against his lips, and her fingers untangle from his hair to circle his wrist. She pushes his hand lower, and a rumbling croon echoes in his chest. His hips roll forward the instant his fingertips brush along the fine hairs below her navel. He follows the trail lower until he encounters the dense, lushness of her pubic hair.

" _Yes_." Cassandra tips her head back, breaking the kiss, and draws her leg up until the foot rests flat on the floor. She cants her pelvis, and Blackwall takes the invitation.

He presses his middle finger between her folds, and groans his appreciation at the copious, viscous arousal he finds there. Brushing light kisses against the exposed line of her throat, he draws his finger upward to smear the pointed tip of her clit with slick until his fingertip can glide over it with no resistance.

Cassandra's hips tremble beneath his touch, and her harsh breaths gust over his ear as she turns her head to the side. Her fingers grip the meat of his upper arm, and he grits his teeth, knowing there will be bruises there in the morning.

He repeats the motion of his finger, dipping lower this time to ghost along her entrance and test the full measure of her wetness, and she is so ready for him that his finger eases inside with the slightest pressure. She lifts her hips, spreading her thighs even more, and sheathes him in sodden heat up to the second knuckle.

"Oh, Cassandra." His short length twitches and pulses, straining against her tense, muscled thigh.

The sound she makes as he pushes the rest of his finger inside almost pulls him over the edge, and when her inner walls suddenly squeeze, his hips buck with the thinnest wisp of an orgasm.

He fights past the writhing of his own hips and focuses on what his finger feels. Cassandra is fucking herself on his finger, and he holds still to marvel at the rippling, frictionless slide of her cunt as she pumps her hips. Her breaths come so quickly that she almost wheezes, so he slows the frantic pace of her thrusts by gradually withdrawing his finger.

Her hips chase it, so he presses forward, curling the digit so the fingerpad digs into the swollen, ridged flesh of her front wall. She barks, fingernails now biting into his upper arms, but the urgent rock of her hips steadies as he withdraws again.

He pushes inside again, finger curling the same as it had before, and he repeats the gentle, steady penetration until she leaves angry scratches on his back in her demand for more. She is beyond words, but her desperation to come is plain in the broken sounds spilling from her lips.

Blackwall thinks to prolong it, but he's too eager to see how she looks as she comes. He wants to feel her powerful body tense and shake under his hand, wants to revel in how she spasms and clenches around his middle finger.

"Come for me." He speeds up the push and curl of his finger, making a sound in his throat as her wetness pools against his palm.

Cassandra whines, raking her fingers down his upper arms before scrabbling for purchase on the floor. Her hips buck, back arching. Her breaths come fast, and her cunt ripples around his sluicing finger.

"That's it. Come for me." He draws his lower lip into his mouth, and the edge of his beard tickles the upper one.

Cassandra tenses and grabs Blackwall around the wrist as she bellows, her thighs splaying wide. Her grip is painful, but serving as her anchor sends a fresh wave of desire pulsing through his cunt and clit. Her head is thrown back, every tendon and muscle in her neck straining. He can see her heartbeat at her throat, feel the silk slide of her pumping up and down the length of his finger as she rides the tide of her orgasm.

Her body stiffens again, and he presses more firmly into the tender spot of her front wall, moving the fingerpad back and forth ever so, eliciting a surprised yelp from Cassandra. She lets go of his wrist to clutch to him, muffling her groans against his neck.

Gradually, her hips still, and then her breathing calms. He keeps his finger where it is until he is sure her orgasm has ended and no further aftershocks will come. He draws it out slowly, then drags it up to find her clit. It is still hard and wet, but the quality of her whimper tells him that she is too sensitive for more.

When their eyes meet, hers are shining and lidded. Her hair is stuck to her forehead with sweat in places. It seems that she is trying to find words, but Blackwall finds no reason to trade any. He smiles, just a bit of teeth showing, and she relaxes, her hands finding the sides of his face.

Her thumbs smooth over his beard, eyes still searching. He leans closer, wanting to kiss her but unsure of how she'll receive it.

Her fingertips slip beneath his hair to touch the nape of his neck, and she lifts to meet his lips with her own.

**Author's Note:**

> Your gender interpretation mileage may vary. You can find out how I headcanon Blackwall in this particular smutshot on [@primeeightslate](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/primeeightslate/) on Tumblr. 
> 
> For those of you who read _Nas'isalathe_ , I am making progress on chapter seventeen! I'm not going to give an ETA because I never hit my own damn deadlines, but I'll post updates on Tumblr as things happen. 
> 
> Most importantly, take care of yourself and your family--chosen or otherwise--because it's a rough and tough world out there. We need to be candles in the darkness, to draw in those seeking the light. Many blessings, friends, from the core of my heart to yours. <3


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